


Making Up Or Breaking Up?

by thewritingkoala, Tina0609



Series: Tom & Hanna [9]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Breaking Up & Making Up, F/M, Jealousy, Office Blow Jobs, Office Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:17:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tina0609/pseuds/Tina0609
Summary: The aftermath of Tom's jealousy hits. It's been a week without Han. How can he get her back? Will it work?





	Making Up Or Breaking Up?

Seven days.

It’s been seven days since she’s left, and Tom doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself.

There was a lot of crying, mostly silently and at home–if you disregard the one time when he had a business meeting with Luke, saw a potted orchid on the window sill and had to excuse himself to the loo so he could half-sob into his handkerchief like a heartbroken teenager.

There was also a lot of staring at the wall, hugging her pillow with her now slowly fading scent, and trying desperately to sleep. Tom has bitched at Luke more times than he can count (and been bitched at in return, reveling in the bit of adrenaline these fights give him). He has a script to learn that he can’t concentrate on. He’s been running extra miles each morning to kick himself into action, and returning home as late as possible so he doesn’t have to face the empty flat.

If his math skills–basically non-existent–don’t fail him, he’s typed at least 19 messages to Hanna and deleted them all without sending them. She said she’d call him, and he knows better than to put pressure on her.

But damn it all to hell, he misses her so fucking much. Her smile, which is warmer than sunshine. Her smartness, snark and sass. The way she calls him Hiddleston or Thomas when she’s annoyed with him. Their endless cuddling sessions. Simple, small but utterly important things like shopping together or for each other, sharing a bucket of popcorn on the couch, sending her quotes and weird facts he stumbles upon online.

Tom has been half-hoping he’ll be called away for international promo–and also half-dreading it because he knows he looks like hell right now. His scruff has turned into a somewhat scraggly beard. He reminds himself of a reanimated corpse with dark circles under his eyes, and he’s finding it difficult to be nice to his amazing fans whenever he meets them.

And she hasn’t even broken up with him…yet. It’s the ‘yet’ that’s worst, he thinks sometimes, clutching a mug of tea that’s long gone cold. Not knowing whether she’ll take him back. And he’s made a decision: Enough waiting and dying. She still hasn’t called, so he’ll have to do something. What, though?

He thought about sending flowers to her office. But then immediately dismissed it since without checking in afterwards he would have no idea whether she kept the flowers or threw them away or liked them or hated them. And Tom by God has enough to think about.

He also thinks about just one call to thank her. The morning after she left, Luke came over. Tom had no idea why or how he would know until Luke told him that Hanna called him in the middle of the night, sobbing.

He didn’t know how because his heart had already been broken, but that hurt even more. She called to tell him what happened at the pub. To prepare him for media asks if people talked. She looked out for him, even then.

But a call seven days later seems a little strange. Tom sighs. He has so much to tell her. Not only about that night or about his past or his ex. He has to tell her the simple things! He saw a puppy chasing a squirrel the day before and wanted to tell her. That one guy that always sits alone inside of their favourite café finally found a girlfriend!

Tom swallows, drinks the last of his tea, and grimaces. The only way is to see her, isn’t it?

But where on earth is he supposed to find the courage for that? It feels more terrifying than the first time playing Loki, the first time on stage as Coriolanus, the first time asking a girl to date him.

His mind travels back to roughly three years ago when he was equally terrified because he’d decided to let Hanna know of his feelings for her. It’s almost worse today because he doesn’t think he’ll get a second chance if he messes this up. And truth be told, he’s less sure of her reaction than he was those days. Now if that isn’t telling…

With a sigh that shakes his whole body, Tom gets up. He spends an inordinate amount rinsing out his teacup. It’s her mug, the one that has a horned Loki on it.

Tom shuffles into the bathroom, missing the feminine scents of all those intriguing little products Hanna usually uses on her hair and skin. It’s never been like this before when he broke up with girlfriends (or they with him). Isn’t that an indication of how much he loves her? Does she miss him this excruciatingly too? How long before she’ll finally, finally, FINALLY call?

With a groan, he leans his head against the mirror over the sink and closes his eyes. He’s been an arse, and he needs to win her back. He’s considered buying her a puppy. Or a kitten. Or one each. Gifting her a ticket to Ireland because she’s always wanted to go there (and a spare one for himself in case his peace offering is accepted).

But it won’t do, will it? Hiding behind all that won’t help heal the rift between them. Only him showing up and giving her the right–and true–words will.

And so he makes himself presentable. Shaves meticulously. Puts only a little of product in his hair because she’s so partial to the natural curls. Spends entirely too long choosing an outfit and decides to wear the grey suit she’s so partial to. Yes, it has to be a suit, even if he’s only seeing her at the office. The suit is his armor, his protection. Tom puts his glasses on, selects the patterned tie she bought him last Christmas. And then with his heart in his throat, he leaves the flat.

Ready or not, here he goes…

He can’t decide whether to walk or take the car so he compromises (with himself, because no, Hanna’s still not there) and starts walking, maybe getting on the Tube later on.

So far he hasn’t been spotted by paps during the last days, but then again, he wasn’t outside that much. If anyone spots him today, at least he looks more presentable. And the fans that met him loved the beard as Luke told him with a grin, so that went alright.

He walks slowly. It’s a strange feeling, this mix of “can’t wait to finally see her again” and dreading the things to come.

He curses a little as dark clouds start rolling in and he has to fasten his pace in order to not get wet before meeting her. At least he hopes to meet her. God, what if she doesn’t even give him clearance to even get near her office?

He’s in front of the building way faster than he wanted to be and takes a few calming breaths. This is worse than stage fright.

Still, he opens the door and walks in.

Wiping clammy hands on his trouser and fidgeting with his tie for the millionth time, he walks up to the reception desk and clears his throat.

Yikes, he should’ve thought this through. How to announce himself? How to ask for her? Does he tell them it’s a surprise so he won’t risk making a fool of himself when she refuses to let him in? Jesus freaking Christ, if he can’t pass this first hurdle, how on earth will he win her back?!

“Um…hello, I’m Tom…”

“Hiddleston, I know,” responds the receptionist, grinning from ear to ear and actually swooning a bit.

Great, just great. A fan. Yes, Tom truly loves his fans, but he isn’t too keen on the added pressure now. If this ends up with Hanna throwing the paperweight at his stubborn head or stabbing him in the heart with the letter opener and letting him bleed to death in the foyer, he isn’t so keen on it ending up in the papers.

Man up, Hiddleston, he tells himself. You’re not an actor for nothing!

So he leans closer, gives the girl a wink–which makes her gasp squeakily–and lowers his voice. “Yes, I am, but could you do me a huge favour and keep it a secret, darling? I’m here to surprise…someone who means a lot to me, and I’m in desperate need of your help.”

Still swaying a bit and looking rather dazed, as if hypnotized by Kaa the snake, the receptionist nods. “Sure, Mr. Hiddleston. Anything. I’d do anything for you.”

Keeping his smile in place with some effort, Tom insists, “Tom. Please call me Tom. And thanks a million,” he squints at her name tag, “Claudia.”

“This is about Hanna Engel, actually. Now, what I’d like you to do is…” Tom leans even closer and whispers quickly before his laughable courage deserts him.

* * *

Hanna’s been typing away on her computer for the last three hours, stubbornly avoiding Alex’s glances like she’s done for the past week.

No, it’s not his fault everything went south on that night out, but somehow she feels angry at him, guilty, embarrassed and sad all at the same time.

The same thing goes for Tom, and herself, and she can’t allow herself to feel so many things at once or she’d never make it to the office in the morning.

She has no idea what she’s going to do. She loves Tom, she misses him terribly, but he’s hurt her.

Goodness, he’s hurt her in ways that she didn’t think possible. She takes a calming breath. No need to start crying in the office now, she’s been avoiding that spectacularly so far.

A huge accomplishment considering the amount of time she’s spent here. Coming earlier, going later, mostly to avoid being alone at her friends’ apartment, thinking of Tom. Avoiding making a decision, basically. Because she has no idea what to do.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts by her phone ringing, startling her so much that she can hear Alex snicker from his place opposite her.

“Hello, this is Hanna,” she answers.

“Hi, it’s Claudia. From the reception desk. I have a delivery for you, Hanna.”

She sighs. “Okay, I’m coming down.” It’s a little strange, normally there’s always someone going around with their letters and stuff, she almost never has to come down to pick something up.

There’s a harsh whisper on the other end, Hanna hears Claudia saying “oh, okay”, before hearing a louder, “No, Hanna, that won’t be necessary. I’ll send him…it up to you.”

“Oh. Fine. Okay.” With that they both hang up, leaving Hanna staring at the phone. She’s a strange one, that girl. Hanna always knew it.

* * *

Down at the reception desk, Claudia is tomato-red and stammering.

“I’m s-sorry, Mr. Hiddleston, I mean, Tom. I kind of messed that u-up, didn’t I?”

Tom feels sorry for her for a moment. He’s an expert at messing things up these days so he can relate. He reaches out and pats her arm, and Claudia looks rather white now, as if she might faint because he’s touched her.

“Nothing to worry about, it’ll all go well.” Yeah, it will. He could be killed…or worse, Hanna could ditch him. But hey, it’ll all be fine.

Feeling a bit nauseous, Tom asks the still-swaying, slightly glassy-eyed receptionist for directions, then strides to the lift. He steps from one foot to the other while he waits for it, too nervous to even look around and get a feel of the company building. The doors open with a ding and steps in and punches 5 for her floor.

By the time the lift has reached the fifth floor, Tom’s barely able to breathe and has already forgotten which room number her office is. He pulls out the little item he took along to help him win Hanna back: He’s printed out one of his favourite photos of them that he has on his phone and bought it a little silver frame with tiny hearts etched into it, small enough to fit into a suit pocket. The picture is a selfie which shows the two of them on Hanna’s birthday two years ago. She’s got a smudge of chocolate icing on her nose, confetti in her hair, and the most radiantly happy smile on her face, her eyes shining. Tom–with a cake smudge of his own on one ear–has his arm around her and his face smooshed against hers, trying a bit unsuccessfully to kiss her cheek while taking the photo.

Tom takes a long look at the picture, and for the first time in a week, he feels the tiniest smile form on his lips.

When he exits the lift, he sees that her floor has another reception desk, this one with a young man behind it who looks bored out of his mind. Great, he won’t have to try all the doors to find the right one.

Tom walks over. “Excuse me? Hello. Where can I find Hanna Engel, please?”

The young man drags his eyes away from the computer screen and jabs a finger to the left. “Oh, she’s in 504 with her husband.”

The photo falls out of Tom’s lifeless hand, and he’s not sure whether the splintering sound he barely hears is his heart or the picture frame.

“Husband?!” His voice sounds squeaky even to his own ears, and it’s a wonder he even hears himself with all that blood rushing in his ears.

What the hell happened in these seven days?! How did she get a husband so fast? Oh God, is it Alex? He ditched that nurse of his, gave Hanna the ring and stole her away.

Tom knew it. It was all a game to him, surely. And she agreed!

Tom rubs at his chest. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Would it be very embarrassing, if he’d fainted? Like, right now? Because that room is spinning dangerously. Is there a chair somewhere? And is it hot? It’s kind of hot, isn’t it?

He starts sweating, tearing at his tie a little, trying to get some air. He still can’t see a chair, maybe he should sit on the floor? Is that more or less embarrassing than fainting?

“Sir? Sir! I don’t think you can sit there!” But it’s too late, he’s already on the floor, his back to the wall, legs spread in front of him, eyes closed and head held back.

Well, she could have at least call him like she said she would.

“What’s with all the noise?” he hears from somewhere on his left and it’s like - literally - angels singing. Hanna. He hears her voice. Oh God, he’s dead, isn’t he? It was a heart attack after all.

“Ah, Hanna. You’re the one he wanted to visit, actually. Told him your room number and that you share it with your husband,” that guy at the desk snickers. Oh ha ha.

“I’ve told you to stop with that joke. And it’s work-husband. It’s just a joke if it’s work-husband.”

Tom’s head jerks up. Her what now?!

‘He’? Hanna follows the line of Ben’s finger and stops dead.

Oh.

Not very far from her, she can see Tom sitting on the floor, surprisingly cleanshaven and in–ugh, it’s her favourite grey suit. Wait a minute, why’s he on the floor, looking as pale as a ghost and rather like he’s seen one, clutching his chest?

Oh. Uh-oh. Realization dawns, and she hasn’t got a clue how to react.

Her feet automatically carry her closer–and crunch on something pointy. With a startled gasp, she lifts her foot to find a bit of glass stomped into the carpet. There are more glass shards close by. Something metallic and square.

She blinks at it, then at Tom, then back down at whatever she almost stepped on and what probably caused all the noise.

There’s a wheezing sound from Tom’s direction before he clears his throat. When he speaks, his voice is about an octave higher than usual and as shaky as he looks.

“What the devil does that mean? Work-husband?!”

Shit.

Hanna fidgets with the hem or her white blouse. “Um…it’s just a silly joke. One I’m not overly fond of.” She glares at Ben until he shrinks away and mumbles something about going to fetch a dustpan. “A co-worker came up with it some months ago when Alex and I became a team.”

Tom’s face has a bit more color now…and appears a lot more than ‘a bit’ angry. In fact, it’s getting angrier with every word she says.

Shit indeed.

“It doesn’t mean anything, really. It’s just… we spend almost eight hours a day in that shared office room and handle all projects together, and sometimes people bring food in for both of us. And one day, Mary said we’re like a married couple…and…and it stuck, I guess. It’s silly.”

Tom closes his eyes for a moment and stops breathing like someone who has been saved from drowning.

“You almost killed me.”

She’s getting a little defensive now. “Well, I didn’t ask you to come here,” she whispers harshly at the man, looking a little bit like a drowned puppy.

He looks at her now. “Well, you said you would call, and you haven’t,” he grits out and then seems to stop himself from saying more, eying her instead. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbles.

He looks a little pathetic, with the rumpled suit sitting on the floor. And her heart aches, but at the same time she can’t ignore the fact that he didn’t listen to her. Again.

“I wanted time, Tom. I needed time. And now you want me to discuss our relationship on the floor in front of my office?” How dare he? “If I made a decision, one way or the other, I would have called you. Like I said.”

She’s fidgeting again. She’s so not prepared for this.

“Fine.” Tom gets up with less coordinated movements than she’s usually used to from him, elegant long-limbed bastard that he is. “Sorry for missing you.” His tone is as petulant and pissed-off as a child’s and she can feel her eyes rolling so hard she’s going to have cramps.

He brushes his hands–those beautiful, cursed hands she’s been fantasizing about even with all the anger and pain–over his suit and she has to bite her lip. Has he worn it because he knows it’s her favourite? She’s pretty certain he has. He’s thoughtful like that…when he’s not being an idiotic asshole.

They stare at each other for some silent seconds, and all the lonely moments in the past seven days come crashing back, making her eyes sting.

“Why are you really here, Tom?” she asks, hating how weak her voice sounds just then.

His expression shifts, all the sulky anger replaced by a sadness of such raw depth that it’s like a fist to her solar plexus.

“I…Can we talk? Not on the floor of the reception? Please, Hanna?”

He’s not calling her ‘love’ or ‘darling’, and somehow that makes it worse and better all at the same time.

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” she croaks out in pure self-defense.

His face falls even more, and he nods once, his eyes misting over. Slowly, his shoulders hunched, he walks closer, then bends to pick up that half-broken metallic square. He holds it out to her. “Your delivery, Miss Engel.”

Her fingers automatically curl around the item without looking at it, and Tom turns to leave.

That’s so absolutely not how this was supposed to go, Tom thinks to himself as he starts to leave. He doesn’t even have his dignity left. But hey, she didn’t stab him, right?

He’s really trying to hold back tears now, while simultaneously walking as slowly as possible back to the elevator. Maybe he should go to a doctor on his way home, his chest still hurts.

“Wait,” he thinks he hears softly behind him, but he isn’t too sure and also a little - no, very much - afraid to turn around and see Hanna gone. “Tom, wait,” she says - again - and he stops and closes his eyes for a moment.

God, he’s missed her voice. For a moment there it doesn’t even matter if this works out or not, if he can only listen to her a few minutes more. She can even screech at him.

“Come to my office for a moment? If you… if you want to talk. I could use a break anyway.”

He turns around so fast it’s almost embarrassing. But then again, she found him sitting on the floor, it doesn’t get much worse than that.

She’s looking at the picture now, a tear slowly running down her cheek and she looks so conflicted, he just wants to embrace her and not let her go anymore. But he’s a little afraid that would only earn him a kick in the balls, so he settles for a nod right now and follows her as she turns around and walks to - what he thinks is - her room.

She opens the door and steps in, and Tom sees her ‘work-husband’–his hands ball into fists–look up from his computer.

“Oh.” The man blinks, looks from her to Tom and back to her, then gets out of his chair so fast it almost topples over.

“I’m just gonna…um…grab an early lunch. Yeah, I’ll do that.” Before either of them can acknowledge it, Alex is out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Silence. He hasn’t got a clue what he’s feeling right now. Relief. Trepidation. Anger. Disappointment. Determination. Not even a hundred years at RADA and a million books read could have prepared him for this…this disaster.

Hanna sits down at her own desk. She puts the dented, glass-less picture frame on her desk and it topples over. She’s set it next to a much plainer frame made out of wood that holds a photo of her and Tom bundled up for winter, with the Statue of Liberty in the background. It’s from the time when she visited him at the set in America and he first officially introduced her as his girlfriend.

His throat constricts. Yes, he definitely needs to go visit the doctor on his way home, that darned stabby chest pain won’t go away.

She folds her hands on top of her desk, and he can see how tightly she’s clenching her fingers together. After a glance at him, she fixes her gaze on her own fingers, her chin wobbling once.

“So…you wanted to talk?”

He tries to swallow around the lump in his throat without choking. It’s a difficult task. And he’s forgotten everything he wanted to tell her. Great, that’s reassuring.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, his hands wringing together nervously. He looks at Hanna while she’s still staring at her fingers.

“Han, I miss you.” Well, that certainly won’t do it. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how… well. No, actually I do know how that happened. I think. Yeah. I think… oh goodness.” Okay, this is worse than the love declaration. At least she thought he was cute then. Now, she probably wishes he did have a heart attack out there.

Or a stroke. Kind of feels like a stroke. He walks a little closer towards her. He has an idea. “Hi, I’m Tom.”

Okay. Now she looks like he’s lost all his marbles, but at least she’s looking at him. Like he’s crazy, but he feels like that too, so it fits.

And so he holds out his hand, waiting with bated breath whether she’ll humour him and shake it.

She slow-blinks at it with the cautiously suspicious look one might give a suspected ax murderer escaped from the loony bin. “Are…are you seriously expecting me to shake your hand and say ‘bloody pleased to meet you’?!”

Uh, that didn’t go so well. Hah, as if anything did go well as of late.

He withdraws his hand and stuffs it in his pocket because he doesn’t like that it’s trembling so much. Great, aren’t trembling hands a sign of stroke? Or is he mixing up his diseases now?

“Um, there’s a punchline I forgot to add, actually.”

Yikes, Hiddleston, aren’t you the smartest man on the planet? Planet…oh, he’d give his right arm for some magical portal that would open up and transport him to Sakar or somewhere now.

Now she looks even more as if she’s longing to call the men with the white straitjackets. “There is?”

“Yeah.” Tom remembers to breathe but still feels lightheaded. C’mon, now or never. He does want her back, he’d do anything for it. What harm can a bit of self-ridicule do?

“Hi, I’m Tom - and I come with baggage. Would you still like to meet me?”

It takes every bit of self-defence she possesses not to grin at him. Hanna is pretty sure he’s lost it, she shouldn’t encourage such behaviour.

But she’s also seen his shaking hand and how he’s sweating and swallowing and absolutely not the confident actor he usually is.

Except for when she met him. Or actually, not when she met him, but when he’s asked her out. Hanna can’t decide if he was worse then or now.

She still doesn’t know where this is going but to hell with it, she’ll just call an ambulance if he’s getting weirder.

“Hi Tom,” she answers, and try as she may, she can’t help her voice getting softer. So she clears her throat. “Nice to meet you. I think,” she adds as an afterthought, she’s still not sure, if he’s turned slightly crazy this past week.

“And you are?” He’s holding is hand out again for her to shake.

She does so reluctantly, with a roll of her eyes and a tiny disbelieving shake of her head. This is getting ridiculous. “Hanna,” she answers flatly.

No, Hiddleston, she won’t give in that easily.

Okay, okay, he can do this. Totally. Yes, he can.

She’s at least shaken his hand. He wants to cling to it and never let go, but that would defeat the purpose. Right, purpose. Get on with it.

He’s still standing, and isn’t that supposed to be a position of power? But he feels at a huge disadvantage. For a moment, he considers kneeling at her side and just spilling his heart. But that would be overly dramatic, right?

“Shouldn’t you offer me a seat?” he asks tentatively, and her gaze turns decidedly murderous again.

“I should show you the door, that’s what I should do. Seriously, Thomas, this isn’t helping either of us. Do you have any idea how dificult it is for me to even confront you right now? And how much I want to shout at you and preferably kick you in the nuts too?”

Tom swallows on an unmanly squeak. Standing it is. Yeesh.

He closes his eyes and gives himself a last shove. “I do have something to tell you. I don’t…I don’t want to justify the despicable way in which I behaved, but…I hope you’ll hear me out nevertheless. Because I do have a reason for being so jealous. And unfair.”

She can’t help the snort that escapes her. It’s so not funny, though.

“Ha! A reason to be jealous and unfair. I’m listening, Tom. Was it me? Did I behave inappropriately? Was it Alex? Did he touch me in the wrong way? Is that your excuse? Because if it is,” she stops to take a calming breath, “if it is, you should run away very fast.”

That’s unbelievable. They’ve been a couple for three years. What could there possibly be that he can tell her that makes everything right all of the sudden?

He goes white as a sheet right before her eyes, opening and closing his mouth a few times. Seems like she’s taken away some of his points from him. Damn it. Now she has to swallow a lump in her throat, because she somehow hoped this would go differently.

“Han,” he starts. God, not that nickname again. She loves and hates it in equal measures right now. “That’s so absolutely not what I was trying to say. It’s not your fault or…” He looks like he’s bitten in a very sour lemon. “It’s not your fault. It’s… gosh, it happened before I’ve met you.”

That was unexpected. And a little hurtful. “You’re punishing me for something in your past, is that it?”

Now he looks even more panicky.

“No!” It comes out as a shout, and he cringes. “No, I swear. I mean, I don’t…didn’t want to punish you. I…”

With a groan like that of a dying man, he slumps down on the chair and buries his face in his hands.

“Fucking hell, I’ll never be able to make things right!” Silence. Then a sniffle.

Oh. Oh no. Is he crying? She can feel her own eyes tear up and she hates that instinctive reaction with a vengeance.

There’s another strangled noise, and then Tom speaks from between his fingers. “Can I just…can you let me try and explain why the whole Alex issue is such a shock for me?” He lifts his face, one tear rolling down a chiseled cheek, his eyes so beseeching she feels as if she’s kicked a puppy. “Please, Han, if you still love me even a little, give me this one chance and hear me out.”

Fuck, that’s a low blow. Not trusting herself, she gives one tight nod.

She loves him. That’s what this means, right? But he doesn’t dwell on that. Instead he tries to order the mess in his head. Where to start?

“Thank you,” he mumbles and then sighs. “Uhm, the girl I’ve dated before you… hm. Well, I’ve already done Thor and Avengers then. We’ve dated and I asked her to be honest with me. To tell me if it gets too much with me travelling or with hiding from the press, with me being away.

“She never said it’d bothered her. Uhm. She cheated. With her neighbour. She didn’t tell me, I’ve found out when I saw them together. I’ve never suspected anything and she said she’d loved me, but that I was never there and… and that he was normal. That she could be herself. That he wasn’t pressuring her…”

He has to stop there, before he talks himself back to the past and gets angry. Angrier. He looks up and sees tears streaming down Hanna’s face.

She nods once. “Go on, there more to it, isn’t there?”

He nods, gripping the armrests so hard he can feel his bones protest. All he wants to do is run over and hug Hanna and make her stop crying. Better yet, turn back time and never let things come so far. But he can’t. He feels like he can’t do anything damn at all right now, barely breathe.

Somehow, he finds a last modicum of strength to go on.

“I said I didn’t suspect anything, but that’s only half of the truth. Because later on, when I picked up the broken pieces of what I’d thought was a great relationship, I recognized all those little signs.”

He forces the memories back, but the bitter taste won’t leave his mouth.

“She used to message him. I knew about that because I’d once seen her phone lie around with the chat app open. She said they were just friends, had been living next to each other for years and were both in commited relationships, so not to worry.”

He chokes out a hollow laugh, sees Hanna stiffen.

“And besotted fool that I was, I believed her. Without a single doubt. For fuck’s sake, I was even happy because I thought that it would ease the loneliness for her.”

“Tom…” He barely registers that she’s saying something and he just goes on.

“And she was lonely. I mean, I was barely ever home. And I know you’re not her. I know that. But it started now like it had started before. And I was so fucking afraid that you wanted something else. And then you said those things.” He has to stop in order to not choke on his words.

It gives Hanna the time to ask questions though, and Tom doesn’t know if he’s prepared to hear them. “What things did I say?’

”‘Something new is exciting’ ‘I don’t have to hide but can be myself’ ‘being plastered in the newspapers’ ‘destroy your reputation’… and you didn’t say ‘I love you’.“ He can hear her swallowing, but is afraid to look up. God, he’s afraid of everything these days.

“I got scared. It’s way easier to be with him than to be with me.” And now he sounds pathetic.

Hanna has never felt so freaking helpless in her life. Nope, not even when she had her apendix removed. Not even when she stood on the red carpet with Tom for the first time.

She’s feeling too many things at once…and suddenly Tom clutching his heart and making dying noises doesn’t seem so ridiculous anymore. She has half a mind to do that herself now. But first she needs to stop blubbering and man up..erm, woman up.

“Tom?”

“Mhm.” He’s not looking up, and his white-knuckled grip on the armrests makes her equally panicky about his bones and the chair.

“Tom, look at me.”

“I…I’d rather not,” comes the wobbly reply, and he still sounds all wound tight and a bit hoarse, like someone in real physical pain or about to be shoved off a cliff into the frigid ocean. “If I have to look at you cry again without being able to hug you, I’ll die for real.”

Fuck. It’s so unfair. How is she supposd to be angry with him or at least keep a tiny bit of her sanity when he’s like this?!

“We’ll get to the hugging part,” she hears herself say.

With a gasp, Tom’s head snaps up. “We will?”

She shrugs her shoulders and tries a wobbly smile. “Eventually, yes.” She looks at his hands pointedly. “Could you try not breaking that chair? Then we need to have the management here and the insurance company and everything will be so damn complicated to explain.”

He’s so edgy that he doesn’t even smile at her joke. Or it was a bad one, that’s always a possibility as well. He does let go a little bit, though.

“Thank you,” she nods. “So… I know I’ve said those things, Tom. But remember we’ve told each other to be honest with each other? I’ve meant that. If there’s something that bothers me, I tell you. You should know that, I basically yell at you every weekend for not putting your clothes away.”

“You didn’t tell me you didn’t like to go out with me, though.”

“I DO like to go out with you. It’s just a little more stressful. But I love you, Tom. And I take ‘a little more stressful’ if I can go with you then.”

“But it’s…”

“Jesus, Tom. No buts. Do I like to go out and not think about pleasing this producer and shaking that actor’s hand? Yes. I don’t want a role, I don’t need a contract. But you do. And I’m your girlfriend. And if you were a lawyer or a doctor or - and let’s hope not because you have to calculate for that - a physicist, I’d have to do the same thing.”

He still wants to argue with her, she can see that in his face. Why wouldn’t he belive her, for fuck’s sake? His grip got tighter again as well.

“Stop hurting thar chair, Hiddleston. Also, you don’t appreciate any of my jokes.” Yes, she knows she’s joking, she’s just not cut out for all this emotional baggage. And she wants a drink.

Can synopses in the brain tie themselves into knots? Tom is afraid they can, because it currently feels like that. He’s even more afraid that his brain will just give up on him entirely now. He’ll miss it all the more because his heart has already kicked the bucket.

Why the hell does he have such a hard time articulating himself? And getting to the bottom of what she’s trying to tell him? It’s like somoeone said “oh, let’s see, why don’t I put all the things Thomas W. Hiddleston fears into one bucket, stir that shit nicely and then dump it on him?”

“I’m sorry if I can’t appreciate your jokes at the moment,” he hears himself say. “I’m kind of dying from a broken heart here. But maybe Alex will find them funny?”

Oops. Wrong words. Fuck it all, he’ll never survive this.

Hanna makes a sound he has never heard her make before–he’s not even sure it’s a humanly possible sound.

“I hate you!” There’s her screech again. “Or no, wait, I hate myself more for loving you.” She’s out of her chair so fast he starts and nearly falls out of his own chair. “And I do. Love. You. You asshole, you giant, stupid, stupid, fucking idiot of an asshole.”

And suddenly she’s throwing herself at him and hitting him with her little fists, sobbing and cursing between rather desperate “I hate you”-s and “I love you”-s.

After a minute or so of Hanna hitting him, Tom still hasn’t moved, she realises. What THE HECK I wrong with him?

She tries to compose herself and sinks on her knees in front of him. Her make-up must be ruined by now, and she’s tired and drained, and she has absolutely no idea what she can say to make him believe or understand or anything.

“You’re never going to let that stupid Alex topic go, don’t you? It’s not even about him, it’s about you. There could be literally anyone texting me or asking me to go out that isn’t part of the industry, and you’d be afraid I leave to be with the ‘normal’ people again, right?” She doesn’t like how small her voice sounds.

“He won’t go away, by the way. My company won’t remove him or change positions because of one jealous boyfriend. It’s hard to tell you that, but my bosses kinda don’t care if you’re Loki or not. I’m the one that has to go, if you can’t keep your jealous shit together. Please, don’t make me go, Tom.”

She doesn’t only mean the job, and God, she hopes he understands that.

“I won’t leave you for anyone by the way. But if you don’t stop with that bullshit I might just leave you for you.”

A sob escapes her and she sniffles in a not-so-ladylike manner. She’s staring up at him and shrugs, waiting for Tom to do something. He wanted to talk and now she’s said everything she could.

He hasn’t even moved yet, though, has just been staring at her.

Tom’s brain is still scrambling to keep up with her. One minute it’s “I hate you”, the next minute it’s “I love you” and now she’s talking about leaving him–no wait, about not leaving him? He half wishes she had really hit him or maybe shaken him until his bones rattle and his brain cells reassemble.

Certain words filter through the hazy relief that she hasn’t killed him yet. Normal. Alex. Loki. Go. It’s like being hulk-smashed in real life, and Tom has never felt so out of control before. He kind of wants to sink to the floor too. Or pull her up and into his arms to sob with her?

He blinks, absently rubs his aching chest. Realizes she’s calling his name again.

“Tom? Tom, I need you to say something. Tom?!”

The words “I need you” finally achieve what nothing else has. He can almost hear things fall into place inside him.

The next moment, he does kneel down next to her, grabbing her hands almost as hard as he’s been clinging to the chair. “Did you…did you just say you’re not going to leave me for anyone?”

As he’s not letting her hands go, she rubs her tear-stained cheek on her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess I did. But I mean it, I can’t handle the jealousy. It’s toxic, Tom. It’ll kill us both.”

He’s nodding so hard the bones in his neck are probably about to snap. “I know. I swear, I’ll work on it. I know, I know. I’ll do anything. I’ll apologize to Alex. I’ll post all over the internet that I’m a moron. I…I’m so fucking sorry. Just don’t leave me. Oh god, don’t leave me, Hanna, please.”

Now she’s sobbing even more, and it’s breaking his heart all over again and making him cry too.

“Can I…can I hug you?” he asks, his voice hardly more than a strangled croak.

She’s not doing any better than him, so all that she can offer is a nod. Before she can even finish it, he’s pulled her into a bone crushing hug.

Hanna doesn’t even know how, but suddenly Tom sits on the floor, while she straddles his lap with her feet crossed behind his back. It’s a little difficult in her skirt, but she honestly doesn’t care right now. It can rip, she’ll just make him buy her a new one.

She’s crying. Still. Again. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders from behind, clinging to him, while her face is buried in his neck.

Tom’s arms squeeze around her middle while he’s rocking them, his own face hidden in her hair.

They’re both shaking and crying and whispering things, she can’t understand.

“I love you,” she hears then and the world tilts before it rights itself again.

Tom feels her freeze in his embrace, and then she squeezes even tighter against him.

“Say it again,” she begs, so he says it again and again and again. Until she’s all he can think of, all he can feel and breathe and all he needs to survive.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I swear I’ll never be such a jealous idiot again,” he adds, surprised he can actually make words now. Maybe it’s because his heart is slowly slowly mending itself. She isn’t leaving him. He could bear a thousand heart attacks or strokes if she’s still with him.

After a million minutes that could’ve been just five, Hanna pulls back a little, and he wants to whimper at the loss. But she places her hands on his wet cheeks and stares right into his soul.

“I. Am. Not. Her. You need to really understand that and remember it. Can you do that, Tom?”

He nods eagerly, turns his face into her touch and kisses her palm. “I know. I’ve always known. I was just…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She gives him a sniffly, tremulous smile that makes him feel a hundred feet tall. At least.

“Shut up and kiss me, Hiddleston.”

And he does, without a second’s hesitation, and hardly anything has ever felt so right. The kiss starts out desperate and fiery, with teeth niping and tongues tangling and moans mixing. And then it gentles to a thorough reexploration, as if they need to relearn the other’s desires, reaffirm they’re a perfect match. As if they can heal each other silently like this, with soothing licks and tender caresses.

Hanna shifts in his hold to thread her hands into the hair at his nape. Tom lets his hands slide beneath her butt to balance her better in his lap, and touches the bare skin of her thighs–and suddenly the kiss is back to incendiary passion and he’s so hard for her it hurts.

It’s all a blur, a burning need, more important than the air he can’t seem to pull into his lungs. And he has no idea how, but she’s lying on the floor with him pressing all of his body against her, letting her feel his whole weight and need as he tries to snake a hand between their writhing bodies to get to where he can feel her heat–and then sanity returns with the cruel ringing of a phone.

“Ugh. No, no, no, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.” Hanna knows she sounds desperate. Hell, she probably looks desperate too, clinging to Tom, who’s breathing hard, and who has one hand between her legs on its way up and his head buried in her neck.

But the phone keeps ringing and wouldn’t it be very, very ironic if she gets fired now?

“Okay, okay,” she rushes out and can feel Tom shaking with silent laughter. “Shut up,” she says while slapping his arm to roll over.

Hanna scrambles up from the floor. She has no idea how she could even talk now. She’s drained, an occasional sniffle leaves her, now that she’s able to properly breathe again.

And she’s aroused. Goodness, she’s so very very really ready to just jump Tom and say ‘fuck it’. Literally.

With shaky steps she’s going to her desk, somehow remembering to lock the door on the way which earns her a snort from the man lying on her office floor. She flicks him the finger before reaching her phone.

Honestly, even if they hadn’t been rolling around on the floor, she probably looks like shit. Nobody at work should see her like that.

“This is Hanna,” she sighs into the phone while plopping down on the chair and leaning her head back.

“Um…am I disturbing…something?”

Shit. Out of all the people to intrude on their moment, it’s Alex.

Well, time to put Tom’s promise to the test. Yikes, thank you, universe, for only giving them like five minutes to breathe. Not that there was a lot of breathing involved…

Oh, yeah. Call. She has absolutely no idea what to say, so she goes for, “Hi, Alex.”

Tom shoots up from lying on the floor to sitting and staring. But to his credit, he doesn’t look angry. Yet.

“Are you okay, Hanna?” Alex sounds genuinely concerned, which just makes matters worse. He IS her friend, dammit, and she hates it that she has to tiptoe around now and consider Tom’s feelings, justified as they may be from his point of view.

“Yeah. I think I’m okay now. Sort of.”

That makes Tom frown, but then their eyes meet and he looks sheepish all of a sudden. He breaks eye contact first, something that rarely ever happens, and she has no idea what to make of that. So she sits there watching as he (not so) surreptitiously readjusts himself, then digs for a handkerchief and dries his face. His suit is a mess of wrinkles, wet splotches and a half-dead tie completely askew, and if she wasn’t so drained emotionally, she would laugh at it.

“You don’t sound very convincing,” Alex’s voice over the phone interrupts her.

“Don’t worry. It’s all fine. We figured out we still love each other and have postponed the killing to an as yet unspecified date.”

Tom looks up again, beaming a truly angelic, if still a bit watery, smile her way.

Ugh, she still wants to jump his bones. Or have him jump hers. Right now, she’s not very picky.

“Okay. Great.” There’s an awkward pause on the phone. “Um, do you want to take the rest of the day off? I could tell the boss you’re having a bad migraine or something.”

Thank you, universe. Or rather, “Thank you, Alex, you’re a true friend.”

He is a true friend to her, isn’t he? Tom hates himself for stiffening every time that… Alex - he can’t keep calling him names in his head, he still won’t go away - is mentioned. But it will need time.

But Hanna needs a friend outside all of this. And if its the guy she shares an office with 8 hours of the day then Tom needs to learn to live with that, somehow.

He’s glad she’s locked the door. His suit is rumpled, he has no idea if his body is even ready to be up again - though something else is definitely up - and Hanna looks a mess.

Not that he’s about to say it out loud, he’s barely alive right now as it is. But her white blouse has dark spots from where Hanna dried her tears, it’s not even remotely tugged into her skirt anymore, and the skirt itself travelled several inches higher. Are those…? Is she wearing stockings?!

With a loud grown and another grip to his crotch, Tom tries to not let all his blood go south. He’s lightheaded enough as it is.

“Thank you,” Hanna says again. “Yeah, probably about half an hour more,” she then continues and Tom shoots her a confused look. Until he sees her swallow and look down to where he’s been readjusting himself. Oh. Oh.

He won’t say anything about her looking a little bit like Hela, either then, with her mascara as much under her eyes as it is on her lashes. Tom has the feeling, she might look even more a mess less than five minutes from now.

She sets the phone down and just stares at him for a long moment. It’s almost as hot as actually having her hands on him.

And he’s not entirely sure he can even handle it if she touches him right now; he’s already so revved up he knows he’ll end up embarrassing himself like a randy teenager.

God, what’d he’d like to do to her right now. He’s torn between wanting to push that skirt even higher and kneel so he can bury his head between her legs and make her come at least twice, and wanting to lift her onto her desk and fuck the living daylights out of her, eavesdropping co-workers be damned.

Not a good thing to think, now he’s straining his zipper entirely too much.

But in a corner of his mind, there’s a bit of caution left. Tom isn’t going to make any assumptions anymore, no, sir. He swallows thickly and clears his throat twice before he can force the next hoarse words out.

“Love, have you ever considered office sex?”

With a full-body shudder, she’s out of her chair, and he barely has a moment to ogle those gorgeous stocking-clad legs before she has reached him and is straddling him again.

“You’re about to find out.”

They lock eyes for a moment–and then there’s a frenzy of movement again. Her hands fumble with his belt, his hands with her panties and the buttons of her blouse. And somehow, they still manage to kiss feverishly. Two of Tom’s fingers finally slide deep into slick heat and he feels her teeth dig into his shoulders as she tries to muffle a whimper against his suit and shirt.

She lets go of his belt for a moment - needs to let go - in order to hold on to something. That something being Tom’s tie as in this position there really isn’t any other possible solution.

She moans and groans as she feels his fingers inside her, the noises somehow muffled by the frantic kissing they’ve picked up again. Hanna has no idea of when.

She’s already bucking against his hand, especially as she feels his thumb brushing that little bundle of nerves.

“Tom,” she hisses, shutting her eyes tight, her hands fumbling with his belt, then with the buttons of his trousers.

When she finally manages to open them, she feels a shudder going through him and can’t help but smirk against his lips.

She lifts herself up on her knees. “Up,” she pants, and Tom somehow understands, falling backwards with her, lifting his hips and tugging down his trousers while simultaneously still pumping his fingers inside her.

“God,” he hisses as Hanna, now on top of him, wraps one hand around him.

Somehow, it’s all too much and not enough.

Hanna’s hand on him is driving him mad, as are her fluttering clenches around his fingers and those tiny desperate sounds she’s making. She strokes up and he curses and grits his teeth so hard he sees stars.

This won’t do, he’s not going to last, dammit. And he desperately needs to make her come.

“Han, you need to be really quiet now,” Tom growls breathlessly, then smirks at her protesting half-shouted whimper when he pulls his soaked fingers out.

“I said quiet.” He gives her ass a half-hearted slap before unceremoniously grabbing her hips and scooting her forward.

Her eyes widen a moment before his mouth makes contact with her slick folds, and he sees her bite down on her own hand while her other one fists in his hair. It takes only a few licks, nibbles and sucks before Hanna crashes, and he’s never felt so happy choking, until her quivering, squeezing thighs and tugging hand finally ease away.

She’s a panting mess on top of him and her thighs can’t hold her any longer. Hanna sits down on his stomach, not really caring for the mess she’s making with his shirt and suit jacket.

They’re both breathing hard, smirking at each other. “Hi,” she grits out, making Tom laugh breathlessly.

“Hi. Ungh.” He almost chokes on the short word, a fact that makes Hanna grin, as she’s reached behind her to grab and stroke him once more.

“Want me to return the favour?” she smirks.

“Please don’t!” he half shouts and now she’s the one hushing him. “Won’t…last…” he grits out as Hanna continues her movements.

So she scoots back again, positioning herself above him. She leans forward, her mouth next to Tom’s ear, nibbling. “Ready?” she whispers.

She doesn’t wait for his reply, but lowers herself. They moan together, Tom’s hips bucking up seemingly on their own. He’s the one panting desperately now, shutting his eyes, moving inside her almost frantically.

Hanna doesn’t care. It’s all heat, all white noise and she’s already seeing stars again. She’s moving with Tom, feeling his fingers digging hard into the flesh of her round hips, and his mouth biting her shoulder.

She can feel him shudder, so she clenches her walls, moaning into his ear with a soft and breathy chuckle.

“Fucking hell…” Tom hisses, then moans low in his throat when she clenches down on him again. “Are you trying to kill me or embarrass me so much…” pant, pant, “that I’ll kill myself?”

She’s breathing just as hard as he is, rubbing and grinding herself on every body part she can touch like this. “Well, I did want to kill…you…unghhhh…earlier, so this is my revenge.”

Fighting his body’s reactions and the sheer bliss of all that searing heat and tight slickness around him, Tom somehow manages to drag one shaking hand from her waist to her front. He’s barely touched and circled that slippery magical spot before she bears down on him like a vice and makes a keening sound.

His body bucking, Tom rears up and seals his mouth over hers to muffle the loud groan when she drags him over and under with her.

They lie slumped like this in a sweaty, tangled, rumpled mess, his heart pounding a mile an hour and his ears ringing.

“I think,” he wheezes, then winces when she undigs her nails from his chest, “we need to fight more often. And next time, I’ll put that desk to good use.”

She tries to slap him on his chest but her tired limp only manages a slight tap. “Don’t you dare,” she breathes then swallows, “fighting with me like this again. Or I might actually kill you.” She wants to look into his eyes or at least kiss him, but she’s way too spent to even turn her head. “We can try out the desk without fighting, though.”

She feels him chuckle, her head bouncing up and down a little bit. “I think I’ve just died, you’ve successfully killed me. Goodness, woman.” He’s still panting, and she wonders if they’ll ever make it off the floor.

“Your suit is a mess. My blouse is a mess. Everyone will know what we’ve been doing,” she mumbles and closes her eyes. “Oh, and we need to actually get up.”

She feels Tom’s hand slowly drawing patterns on her arm, while the other one caresses her thigh. “Yeah,” he sighs. “But not just yet.”

“Mmm-kay.” She makes a soft sound almost like a purring cat, and he’d trade in his favourite grey suede shoes to just lie here forever with her weight on top of him and the scent of their frantic reunion all around them.

He’s still floating somewhere in outer space, even believes he might’ve seen an actual rainbow bridge or exploding stars a few moments ago. Loki would like that, he thinks idly, then smiles a tiny tired smile and continues stroking her.

“I swear if you hadn’t shocked me into a stroke earlier, I’d somehow find the energy to christen your desk. Those stockings are way more tempting than I ever realized.” His fingers brush over them, and she gives the tiniest shudder.

“Promises, promises.” She still hasn’t even lifted her head.

Silence. Tom closes his eyes and drifts, so blissed out that he couldn’t care less if their disheveled state means they’ll have to walk out naked later. Well, alright, he certainly won’t let Hanna walk out in her birthday suit. He’s a gentleman after all, he’d just bundle her up in his suit jacket and smuggle her out.

“Hey.” He winces when she digs her elbow into his ribs. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me now, Thomas William Hiddleston.”

With a chuckle and a groan, he shifts. “I missed you going all stern and bossy on me. I just…I didn’t feel the same without you. Like only half a man.”

“You only feel like a man when I’m bossy?” she asks lightly, but sighs a moment later. “Don’t give me a reason to leave again, okay?” she adds softly and now she does lift her head a little to put her chin on his chest and to look up in his face.

He has his eyes closed and his nose scrunched up. He swallows thickly and the soothing patterns on her arm and thigh have stopped.

“I promise,” he whispers, still not looking at her or even opening his eyes. He’s blaming himself, she can see that and he’s right to do so, but enough is enough.

She scoots up his body, propping herself up on her elbow right next to his head. The finger of her other hand traces the line of Tom’s nose, making him wiggle it, and Hanna chuckles softy.

“That’s all I’m asking.” She leans down for a soft, tiny kiss on his lips, so short he doesn’t even have the time to react. “I’ve missed you too, you know. Especially your clothes all over the floor.”

Now he does open his eyes, and she wants to drown in their mesmerizing blue, just like always.

“And I missed your tiny snuffling snores in the middle of the night,” Tom says, startling her out of her sated reverie.

“What?” She glares at him, suppressing a grin in answer to his smirk. Somehow finding the energy for it and knowing how important these moments are, she reaches out and tweaks his ear until he goes “ouch, ouch, ouch” comically. “I. Do. Not. Snore.”

His smirk widens. “Do too. Very adorably, though. Like a kitten with a cold or an indidgnant, dreaming little piglet.”

For a second, she can only gape. Then she half-heartedly pounces to tickle his ribs.

Tom giggles and huffs, and somehow uses his strength to roll them over so he’s braced on his elbows over her. When she tries to smack him, he shifts his weight and grabs her wrists in one of his big hands, pinning them over her head. It pushes her breasts up, rather visible because he’d been trying to unbotton her blouse earlier.

The look on Tom’s face shifts from goofy grin to predatory attention in a heartbeat and robs her of air more effectively than laughter.

“How much time do we have?” He doesn’t recognise his own voice, it’s a very strange mix of desperation and need and want and love. Or something.

“Hm? Tom, we ca…” But her words die in her throat as Tom pushes his lower body against hers. He has to suppress a shudder himself when he sees how her eyes flutter closed.

“How much time?”

“Ten minutes maybe,” she groans.

“I can work with that.”

The snicker he can just feel wanting to leave her mouth turns into a moan as he presses a finger against her swollen bundle of nerves.

This time when he enters her it’s not erratic or desperate. It’s long and sensational and it feels like coming home.

The kisses are not paired with bites or teeth but are slow and taste like…well…home.

They pant together and they moan together and just as they climax together, Tom feels the desperate need to shout out two words to her. Demand them from her.

But he swallows them. Instead he softly chants her name over and over again, paired with “I love you”-s in between.

He’s not afraid of saying those two words or undecided… hell he’s never been so sure or unafraid of anything in his life.

But he’s not saying them because the woman panting and clenching beneath him deserves much more than a proposal in the middle of her office on the floor with rumpled clothes with stains and sweat and without a ring and with co-workers right next door.


End file.
